"I've been thinking that, too. How we've had this misfortune, but also a strange silver lining. I had to stitch up Jone's face in the infirmary - which, as you might understand, was not a small task - but all the same, no one was delivered unconscious, or battered beyond measure. We are lucky."
And in any other time, she might have gently poked fun at his gentlemanly call to take her for a walk, but that desperate grasp at typical humor almost feels disrespectful in how superficial it'd be.
"But... physical injury is almost easier to cure than what else might ail us," Margaery says, her tone just careful enough to seem speculative. "For instance, I don't know when I'll ever be able to get a full night's sleep again."
Had she mentioned anyone but Jone, he'd likely be more worried at that piece of news β and he'll bet it wasn't a small task, how she throws herself in battle β but since it was Jone, he. You know. Knows she can handle it.
He looks to her at that admission, though, concern creasing his brow.
"Well, you aren't alone in that. I doubt anyone's going to be able to sleep easy for a while."
Not so much a hesitation as brief surprise at the question; but he can admit it, doesn't have the kind of pride that'd be hurt to do so. He'd just said, after all, that this is likely to be true of everyone. He adds, lighter,
"I've always wondered about that. Is it just how... your body operates, Jim?"
She knows enough about coffee now, knows the addictive function of it, but it's not to say that Holden doesn't sleep because he doesn't want to. She's had enough insomniatic nights herself to understand the eluding nature of sleep without cause or logic. Perhaps his body is only accustomed to small amounts of sleep.
Maybe longer. He slept better as a child, he thinks, but that's just part of being a child. Or maybe they're just idealized memories of being a kid, and having nothing to worry about.
"It's gotten worse as I've gotten older, but I'm pretty used to it."
As if the inability to sleep well is just a part of aging, instead of tied to painful experience. But the two go hand in hand.
"I'd be in bad shape if I hadn't been able to sleep here."
A little levity. Even James Holden would struggle with a year on no sleep, surely. But he does have to stop to think about her question, which may be telling enough.
"Probably before the attack," he admits. "Maybe right after. I was fucking exhausted."
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And in any other time, she might have gently poked fun at his gentlemanly call to take her for a walk, but that desperate grasp at typical humor almost feels disrespectful in how superficial it'd be.
"But... physical injury is almost easier to cure than what else might ail us," Margaery says, her tone just careful enough to seem speculative. "For instance, I don't know when I'll ever be able to get a full night's sleep again."
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He looks to her at that admission, though, concern creasing his brow.
"Well, you aren't alone in that. I doubt anyone's going to be able to sleep easy for a while."
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"Including yourself?"
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Not so much a hesitation as brief surprise at the question; but he can admit it, doesn't have the kind of pride that'd be hurt to do so. He'd just said, after all, that this is likely to be true of everyone. He adds, lighter,
"But you know I don't sleep much, anyway."
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She knows enough about coffee now, knows the addictive function of it, but it's not to say that Holden doesn't sleep because he doesn't want to. She's had enough insomniatic nights herself to understand the eluding nature of sleep without cause or logic. Perhaps his body is only accustomed to small amounts of sleep.
Or perhaps something else keeps him up.
"What you've become comfortable with?"
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Maybe longer. He slept better as a child, he thinks, but that's just part of being a child. Or maybe they're just idealized memories of being a kid, and having nothing to worry about.
"It's gotten worse as I've gotten older, but I'm pretty used to it."
As if the inability to sleep well is just a part of aging, instead of tied to painful experience. But the two go hand in hand.
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Her voice is the softest it's ever been, not marred by pity but by understanding.
"Whether here, or -" home? Although that's not exactly accurate now, is it? "Or where you were before?"
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A little levity. Even James Holden would struggle with a year on no sleep, surely. But he does have to stop to think about her question, which may be telling enough.
"Probably before the attack," he admits. "Maybe right after. I was fucking exhausted."